Peter
by PrincelikeTrash
Summary: Peter is a foster child. He's alone, save for the six other boys living in the same home and his cruel foster 'parent'. But maybe there's someone else out there. Based off of Annie (the modern adaptation). Rated T for mild language and mistreatment.
1. The Frenchman, the Boys & The Bike

Author's Note: The story is set in Stockholm, but may not be entirely accurate in terms of services, manner of speech, etc. Please correct me, if needed. I will take constructive critisism. I apologize for grammatical errors. The story will be updated as frequently as possible.

WARNINGS: OOC, MILD LANGUAGE, ALCOHOL, MISTREATMENT

This story is based off of Annie (the modern adaptation).

…

Peter rode the lime-green rental bike down the busy streets of Stockholm, making his way down to the tiny, crowded apartment where he was being fostered.

He saw the familiar outline of the small, but charming café that Francis owned. The Frenchman had taken a liking to the boy, after he was abandoned on the front stairs as a toddler. Francis also fancied Peter's foster parent Arthur, but Peter had never understood why. Arthur was a foul-mouthed drunk that only fostered children for money.

He dismounted the bicycle, placing it in the rental bike rack before stepping up the stairs to the café. Francis greeted him outside, package in hand. "Did they come?" Peter asked, his eyes pleading for an answer. The man sighed and shook his head. "I told you mon petit garçon, that if I were to see your parents, I would tell you right away."

Peter looked down at his shoes for a moment, before looking up into Francis's indigo eyes, and smiled. "I figured. But they'll be coming back for me. I'm sure of it!"

Francis doubted that, but promised himself that he wouldn't tell Peter that, seeing how hopeful he was.

The Frenchman was pulled from his thoughts when the youth called out to him. "Hey Francis, can I take this?" Peter was holding out a grey plastic bucket with a single rose hanging out the side.

Francis nodded, and walked down the steps, over to where the child was standing. He held out the package and winked. "Make sure that rose gets to my love!" Peter rolled his eyes and waved to the adult, before sprinting across the road, towards that godforsaken apartment.

…

Peter stood atop the overturned bucket and wrenched down the ladder that led to the apartment window. He clambered up the rungs, and tried to discreetly climb through the window. "Busted!" An unkind voice hissed at him. Arthur had caught him.

Peter glared defiantly towards his guardian, raising his chin up slightly. Arthur may have been cruel and unforgiving, but his appearance was nothing short of ridiculous. Unruly, greasy blonde hair, short and skinny, and finally, monsterous eyebrows resembling fat caterpillars. Peter had thick eyebrows, but this man's made his seem thin.

Arthur stumbled over, shoving his face up next to the child's. The reek of alcohol on his breath, and a cold look present in his evergreen eyes. "Sneaking out, were ya?" He seethed. "It's dangerous for brats like ya to be runnin' round in the night. Ya might get kidnapped, not that I would give a damn."

Peter ignored his comments. Having had this same talk numerous times, its intimidating nature no longer fazed him. Arthur was just drunk, and was all talk. He tried to step past the drunkard, but Arthur blocked him, slamming a hand on the wall next to Peter. At least he tried to. He slipped on a stray pencil, and collapsed onto the hardwood floor, promptly passing out.

Peter walked around Arthur's sleeping form, and crossed the hall to the bedroom he shared with the other six. He bowed in a extravagant, exaggerated fashion, as the other boys clapped and laughed. All except Lovino and Emil, who were engrossed in a game of chess. The chess board was really just a piece of cardboard, with paper clippings as pieces, but everyone used the makeshift board, as it was really the only tangible form of entertainment.

Peter tossed his backpack onto the bottom bunk of the bed he shared with Erland, a hot-tempered redhead and the only one born in Sweden. Erland smirked down at Peter from the top bunk, and laughed. "The warlock caught you didn't he?" "He tried to. If it were you, you've been long dead." Peter retaliated, sticking his tongue out. Erland scowled, rolling onto his side.

Peter watched the rest of the chess game, watching as Lovino let his guard down, letting Emil put his king in check. Lovino stomped away, grumbling to himself. Emil packed up the game, placing it in a cardboard box.

Peter was almost always happy when the seven of them were alone in the room together. Him, Emil, Lovino, Feliciano, Erland, Yong-Soo and Matthew. They each had their own stories, and compared to a few of them, Peter thought that maybe his own wasn't so bad. Emil and his older brother were kicked out of the house for being homosexual, but his brother hadn't been able to take care of him. Lovino and Feliciano were cut off from their family for having small curls of hair that when touched, caused a most unspeakable reaction. Erland ran away. Yong-Soo also left home. Matthew, in Peter's opinion, had the worst tale to tell. His family had become so absorbed within Matthew's seemingly perfect elder brother, that they had forgotten about him.

Feliciano sprung upon Peter's bed and whispered. "Please read your letter again!"

Peter tugged out the wrinkled, time-worn paper. "Written on a paper from La Vie en Rose cafe: 'This is our darling son Peter, who we are unable to take care of at the moment. We will return for him once we get back on our feet. His birthday is on 9/2/07, and can already walk, and use the toilet.

We trust that someone other than ourselves can give him a life that we couldn't, and only God knows what would happen if we had decided to keep him.'

"They ordered three salted carmel macaroons, and left them with me on Friday, September third, 2010."

Feliciano smiled at Peter. "It must be nice to have hope that someone still might come back for you." Despite being fourteen, Feliciano still acted very much like a child. Peter used to wonder if he was overcompensating for Lovino, who acted like something akin to a grumpy old man.

Matthew held a hand out to the golden-eyed Italian teen, and led him to his bed, tucking him in. Feliciano had a talent for falling asleep almost instantly. Seeing him sleep so peacefully gave everyone the idea that they should all sleep as well, as it was getting quite late.

Peter fell asleep later than his roomates, thinking, that maybe those parents who left him weren't actually real.

…

There's a first chapter done! 'Peter' may have a sequel, but it really depends how I'm feeling when this story is done.


	2. A Series of Unfortunate Events

Author's Note: Please leave reviews! Did you like the last chapter? Please let me know! Also, the services where Annie goes in the movie for her documents are going to be free, since I couldn't find the proper amount needed.

…

Peter was awoken by the sound of a metal pail clattering to the ground. The sound was followed by brooms and mops hitting the hardwood.

He sleepily rolled over, scrubbing sleep from his eyes. Yong-Soo was already whining. "It's Saturday, da-ze! We shouldn't need to be awake at six forty-fi-" He was cut off by Arthur spritzing water in his face. "Thanks for the date and time, Yong-Soo! And now back to Arthur with the weather; it's raining like hell!" Water was sprayed around the room. "You'll have no breakfast until the entire house is clean! There's an inspector coming 'round today, and you can not make me look bad!" He walked out the door, slamming it behind him. The door re-opened shortly after. "If you find any change over 10 krona, it's mine!"

Lovino picked up a mop. "Our life sucks!" The rest of the room agreed. Matthew distrubuted the rest of the cleaning supplies to the other boys, who reluctantly took them.

They made short work of cleaning, and were served a measly breakfast of grey oatmeal which could not be made any better, even with the scant teaspoon of brown sugar sprinkled on top.

After their 'breakfast' the children were seated on the IKEA sectional in the living room. Arthur frantically tried to make them appear happy and well-cared for. "Yong-Soo, do this puzzle, Lovino, brush Feliciano's hair, What's-Your-Face, Erland, read this Bible, Emil, colour this picture; it's one of them fancy ones, Peter," he thought for a moment, "pray." "Why, it's never worked before, so why would it start working now?" Peter glared harshly at his guardian. Arthur gripped his head. He had a hangover and would usually have hit him, yet at this moment there was an inspector due to arrive soon, and how would Arthur explain Peter's having a fresh shiner at seven-thirty in the morning?

The doorbell rang a few minutes later, and Arthur nervously straightened himself out. He opened the door and immediatley turned into someone Peter hadn't seen for years: a friendly, kind person. "Oh, hi there!" The inspector awkwardly smiled and gestured to Peter and the other kids. "Th-the kids, sir." Arthur laughed. "Ah, yes, the young darlings!" He flashed a threatening stare towards the boys; a warning for them to not say anything. Peter grinned. "Of course we're darlings, Mr. Kirkland, we just love you! Don't we, guys?" His peers nodded in agreement, making their own exaggerated comments and smiling. Feliciano however, did not and instead turned to the inspector. "What's your name, mister Inspector-Man?" The proclaimed 'Inspector-Man' looked at the speaker, beaming. "Yao Wang, I'm an inspector for Child Services." He then looked over at Arthur. "Please lead the way, Mr. Kirkland!" Alfred laid a folded paper on the front table, before following the Brit through the halls.

As soon as the duo were out of sight, Emil sprung for the paper. "Oh my gosh, this has all our information!" He ran excitedly over towards the others. Peter peered over Emil's shoulder and gasped. "This has all the information I need to find my parents!" Emil chuckled. "I'll copy it down. Go make an excuse to leave!"

Peter skidded down the slippery wood of the hall floor, and peeked into the bathroom, where Jett and Arthur were standing. "Hey, Mr. Kirkland! May I please, please, please go to the library to study for school? Oh, and also, can I get some floss, please? I still have some of your delicious, nutricious breakfast stuck in my teeth!" He reached up to the medicine cabinet, where Arthur's collection of various narcotics and perscription drugs were hidden. Arthur slammed a hand down on the cabinet door. "I just remembered that we're out of floss, perhaps you should pick some up on your way to the library?" Peter smirked. "Sure! Bye-bye, Mr. Wang, Mr. Kirkland!"

The twelve year-old rushed back to the living room, taking the paper before running down the stairs, and out the apartment complex door. Peter flew down the street, thanking whatever divine deity responsible for having him wander down the same road that the legal building was on earlier that week.

He pulled himself to a halt in front of the glass double-doors. He hesitantly pushed them open. There were several lines queing in front of the desks. Peter stepped to the back of one.

After about twenty-five minutes, Peter was at the front of the line. He pushed forward his previously typed-out document forth. "I'd like to know if- if you can find my parents." The worker pushed his glasses up his nose and spoke in a thick Estonian accent. "Name?"

"Peter Kirkland." Peter had legally taken on Arthur's surname, as his own was nowhere to be found.

"Date of birth?"

"September 7th, 2007."

"Parents' names and surnames?"

"I am currently being fostered by Arthur Kirkland."

The Estonian man, called Eduard, typed at the speed of light as Peter spoke.

"And Mr. Kirkland's occupation?"

"Arthur doesn't have a job. He gets 49.57 krona a day from the Swedish government."

"Okay, and your address?"

"On the third floor of the Crown apartment complex: room 27. It's on Kåkbrinken."

Eduard typed the rest of the information into the computer. He clicked on a few buttons and printed off another document. He handed the paper to Peter. Peter handed it back. "Can you read this? I'm too nervous." Eduard rolled his eyes. "Peter Kirkland, abandoned on the front stairs of the La Vie en Rose café at 3 years of age. No further data."

"What is no further data?

"It means there is nothing more known about you, in a legal sense. Sorry dear, but there is nothing more I can do."

Peter smiled, but disappointment was apparent in his aqua eyes. He thanked Eduard, before turning on his heel and walking out of those glass double-doors.

…

Peter sighed. It was so irritating. He should've never gotten his hopes up in the first place. His angry thoughts were immediately extinguished when he heard kids shouting and laughing. He also heard a dog barking and yipping. "Hey! Leave her alone!" Peter chased after the two boys who were tormenting the fluffy white puppy. The kids dispersed suddenly, but Peter couldn't figure out why until he heard the van. And he was in the middle of the road.

…

'It's been a long-ass day, and my car breaks down now? I swear that Mathias had something to do with this!' Berwald glared furiously at the obnoxious Dane who was chattering away on his cell phone in rapid-fire Danish. Mathias hung up, and Berwald clapped a hand upon hks shoulder. "D'd ya h've somthin' ta do with m' car break'n' down'?" The shorter man rubbed a hand along his neck sheepishly. "He said it was 'nature friendly'. Figured it'd make yer business more popular, ya know?" Berwald shook his head. His driver Lukas looked up at him, as he was at least a good foot shorter than him. Near everyone was at least a good foot shorter than him, at 7'3, it was to be expected. "Mister Oxenstierna, we may have to get your car towed." Lukas gestured to the steaming engine. Berwald just stared back at him. "I'm not gonna wait. I'm t'red 'nd don't need ta wait fer my car ta g't towed." The smaller man shrugged. "Okay. Go ahead, it's not as if you need my permission."

As Berwald began to walk off, Mathias called out after him. "Hey- hey Berwald! I'll text ya the directions, 'kay?" The frustrated Swede shouted back, at a louder, yet at a flatter tone. "I'm perf'ctl' c'p'ble 'f walkin' down th' street." Mathias raised his hands up in a mock surrender. "Don't go about complainin' ta me if ya get lost!"

Berwald walked in large strides, making his way back to the fancy headquarters where he served out his job as the CEO of the popular furniture brand IKEA. He lived in a large and luxurious penthouse on the highest floor.

As he stalked down the sidewalk, cursing his damn assistant the whole way, he heard a horrified shriek and saw a child frozen in place in the middle of the road, with a van hurtling towards him, with no signs of stopping. Berwald reacted before he thought, running to the child, and shoving him and himself out of harm's way. "Ya okay, k'd?" The boy twisted himself out of Berwald's hold, and ran off with out saying so much as a word of gratitude. 'Might just be his generation, seeing how anxious they all are.' Berwald supposed.

…

Peter was offended. 'I probably could've gotten off of the road myself!' But of course, he knew he couldn't have possibly. He looked down at the document, which had been crushed in his shock. The preteen shrugged off the whole experience, having trained himself to do so in any given situation from years of strange encounters.

At around six in the evening, Peter made his way back into the apartment. Arthur was sitting in the living room, waiting for his return. "How was your trip to the library? You were there an awfully long time. And I bet you didn't even buy floss." Peter shrugged off his backpack and set it on the floor, and began untying the laces of his ratty sneakers. "It was quite educational, and I took the scenic route home." He tossed his shoes into a basket located in the closet. "Also, how could I have bought floss without money?" Arthur smirked. "And this attitude is what made me put in a request to have you taken by someone else!"

"Who?"

"Not a who, love, a what: Group Home."

"Okay, fine by me." Peter responded cooly, much to Arthur's anger.

"You are a tiny, sniveling little bastard without a purpose!"

"And you, sir, are a childish, unwashed drunk who only fosters kids for money!" Peter retaliated, grabbing his bag and passing Arthur in order to get to the bedroom. Before he was able to, there was a knock on the door. "Don't go anywhere, Peter!"

The door was unlocked and opened, and a young man with arctic-blonde hair and violet eyes appeared.

"Hello, my name is Tino Väinämöinen, and Mister Oxenstierna requests that you join him for lunch tomorrow."

…

Now the second chapter is done, and I need to go to sleep. Thank you for favouriting!


	3. A (Temporary) New Life

Author's Note: Thanks to she who left reviews! Thank you for favouriting! (HMU if you just wanna talk life or just stuff in general). At the time of writing this, I have 99 reads on Peter!

…

Peter glanced over at the fire-truck red analog clock on the wall opposite his bed. It read 11:45. It was sixteen minutes behind, and such a thing was a well-known fact, but Arthur couldn't be bothered to fix it. The second hand didn't move anymore, but at least the hour and minute hands worked and that was what mattered.

About thirty minutes later, the doorbell rang. Peter shuffled off of the bed, and briskly walked down the hall. Arthur was standing in front of the door, arms crossed, and a heavy frown set on his face, indicating another hangover. Tino was also there, explaining why 'Mister Oxenstierna' wanted to meet up with him. Once he had caught sight of Peter, he beamed. "Ah, there you are!" Peter's eyes meandered before meeting Tino's remarkable purple eyes that reminded him of Emil. "So, why does this 'Oxsensterna' man want to meet with me?"

"Oxenstierna, and he just wants to know if you're okay."

"Okay?"

It was Arthur who spoke. Tino raised an eyebrow. "You mean he didn't tell you?" Arthur forced a smile. "No, he didn't, we didn't get to have our usual one-one heart-to-heart yesterday evening. What happened to the child?" Peter could tell that his parent could not care less. But the new man, the Finnish man, Peter noted, judging by his accent, was quite excited to share the news. "Your boy was almost hit by a van yesterday! Mister Oxenstierna pushed him out of the way!"

"A van?"

Tino pulled up a video on his moblie phone. It depicted Peter in front of a white delivery van, frozen in fear or shock or confusion, then a tall man running and shoving the child off the street. "Isn't this wonderful? You get to eat with the CEO of one of the most well-known furnitue companies out there!"

Peter shrugged. "Sure, but don't we have to get going?" Tino cursed. "Sorry, Mister Kirkland, but we should be on our way!"

Peter was escorted down to a gorgeous, sleek, black limousine. He crawled in, taking a seat beside Tino. The ride was silent, until Peter asked about the video. "Who filmed the video? Why didn't they help me? Can I see it again?" His companion smiled, waving off the first two questions. He did, however pull the video up again. "I'm so- so skinny!" Tino chuckled.

The ride took several more minutes. The pair travelled downtown until they arrove at the head quarters. The youth was astounded at the size of the building, and Tino laughed when he saw how Peter's eyes widened.

The driver came and opened the door of the car. "Hey, you kind of look like my friend!" Peter blurted. The man certainly did. Large, slanted purple eyes, though his were a indigo tint, while Emil's were a magenta colour. Shiny, gossamer-like hair, even though his was a light honey-blonde, instead of the white hairs on Emil's head (a product of his albinism). Despite the small differences- yes, the similarities were there. The driver appeared to be indifferent, but inside his mind, gears were turning.

His lips twitched upwards at the edges, and Peter took notice of the way his eyes were glittering, smiling. Tino touched his shoulder, and pointed to the building.

Peter couldn't help looking back at the car, where the Emil look-alike had already disappeared into his seat. 'Does he know Emil?'

…

Peter was seated at a round table, sitting across from the same person that had saved him yesterday.

He awkwardly picked at the plate of Swedish meatballs in front of him, a simple dish made into gourmet cuisine. There were a number of other sides laid out as well: various salads, a dish of fried potatoes, gravlax, a platter of smoked salmon. Beside the table was a towering tree of macaroons, a familiar dessert that he had just picked up from Francis just on Friday night. He felt so out of place, among the fancy setup and décor. Even his best set of clothes felt like rags. He thought that he probably loked strange, wearing a too large baby-blue button down top, a pair of black jeans, and a long, ebony cardigan that was definitely meant for a woman. He nearly wanted to curl up in a little ball and disappear, he was so embarassed.

…

Berwald stared back at the red-faced preteen, whose eyes had been previously scrutinizing him, taking in his monsterous height, his wire-framed rectangular glasses, his cold steel-blue eyes, his wheat-blonde hair. The formerly confident child had bern reduced to a blushing mess. He cleared his throat. "Should w' take s'me p'ctures?" He glanced over to the child, and then to the cameraman. His guest nodded. The cameraman got into position.

"S'y cheese."

The youth didn't, and Berwald didn't either.

After a few pictures, they went back to eating. The silence was even making the stoic Swede uncomfortable. He tried making conversation again. "Wh't's yer n'me?"

"Peter."

"So, ya kn'w about h'w th' v'deo w's t'ken of ya and m', r'ght?"

"Yeah?"

"People w'nna-"

"See you and I together, to 'make sure I'm okay', right?"

"Y-yah."

"I bet if you took me in, the 'people' would go crazy for you."

Mathias, who'd been watching the exchange nodded, and made awkward hand gestures. Peter smiled. "I think he wants to talk with you." Mathias nodded again, and Berwald sighed.

"G' on th'n."

"That's actually a really good idea! Yeh'd get real popular doin' that!"

Berwald took in the suggestion, breathing it in, examining the pros and cons in his mind.

…

That's how Peter found himself back at the legal centre. They approched the Estonian man, who looked up at the quartet, and upon seeing Tino, his disagreements with letting Berwald keep Peter for the following four months began to falter. Once he saw Berwald he ceased completely, and instead began patting his hair down and straightening his scarlet-framed glasses.

…

Eduard tagged along with the group back to the penthouse, needing to perform an inspection to see if Berwald's house made the requirements.

The driver, who was now known to Peter as Lukas Bondevik, stayed on the first floor to give the others a chance to get what they needed to do- not that he talked all that much.

Eduard held his clipboard against his forearm, and began his first part of the inspection when they reached the last floor.

"Now, about secu-" Berwald held his fingertip against a scanner, effectively opening the elevator door, and revealing a lavish home. "I'll go ahead and check off the 'security'."

Tino took Peter's hand, and turned to his Estonian friend. "How about I take you through the house?" Eduard agreed, and Berwald took Mathias into his office.

Eduard began askng questions again. "Seating for all members of the whole household?"

Tino grinned. "He's the CEO of a furniture company, and you're asking about the seating?!"

Eduard rolled his eyes and checked off a box. "A significant source of wa-? I'll just take the koi pond with the fountain as a yes, then."

They continued through the living room and into the kitchen. During a period where no questions were being asked, Peter wondered aloud. "I think I just might like it here." The Estonian responded to that thought, voice full of jealousy. "Damn right, you will."

…

Peter returned home in the early evening, to pack and say his goodbyes. He tossed a bag full of sweets that Tino had given him onto the coffee table in the bedroom. "These are for you losers to share." Yong-Soo smirked at Peter and laughed. "Aren't you a lucky boy? All of us are so jealous!" Lovino sighed, covering his eyes with his forearm. "Damn straight! All this luxury, only 'cos you almost got hit by a car?" Peter looked up from the backpack he was rummaging in, a sad smile forming on his face. "I'm gonna miss you guys. So, don't get adopted while I'm gone. That goes for everyone!"

He sat at the dinner table with his friends for the last time for the next four months, and wondered about how he'd never once miss Arthur's meals. They were either too salty or too bland, burnt or raw, or burnt on the outside and raw on the inside, and always had a foul smell.

After the meal, Peter hugged everyone good-bye, even Emil, who's angsty personality often kept him from displaying emotions. He climbed back into the car, and waved to the group on the balcony.

In his new home, Berwald and Mathias had already set up Peter's new bedroom. It was a fairly large room with pale grey walls, a Sealandic flag next to a Swedish one hung up on the walls. The Sealandic part definitely a feature from Tino, who was the only one who he had told about being born on the tiny fort off the coast of Britain. His new queen-sized bed was low to the ground, and covered with a navy-blue comforter made with Egyptian cotton. A quilt was folded and stretched out over the foot of the bed. 'Oh, wow… So this is my life. For now anyway… Best make the most of it…"

The next morning, Berwald brought out two plates of Swedish crêpes drenched in berry syrup. It was the best breakfast Peter had had since he had breakfast at Francis's café several years ago. Now he hardly ate in the mornings to avoid Arthur's poor excuse for a meal.

Berwald had to work after breakfast, and so Peter, with the permission to wander around and the promise of behaving himself, went out to explore. He took the elevator down to the floor directly under the penthouse, where he found Lukas. "Hi, Lukas!" The driver turned around and smiled slightly. "Hej, Peter."

"I'm bored, what are you up to?"

"I have a day off, and I see that you've been adventuring. But perhaps you would rather take your travels around town?"

Peter agreed immediately, and Lukas made a call to Berwald. Once the duo had the permission to leave, Lukas took Peter out to his personal car.

(Author's Note: We have 100 views! *Throws confetti on you*).

They drove out to a playground where they sat on the swings and talked.

"Do you have a little brother?" Peter asked suddenly. Lukas drew in a breath, long and slow.

"Yes, he must be around your age by now."

"What was his name?"

"Emil."


	4. Missed Oppertunities & High Heeled Boots

Author's Note: Are people still reading this trashpost? No? Okay. Also: Things are gonna get real confusing today. And there's a lot of conversations in this chapter.

"He's holding up as best he can."

"Is he hurt? Sick?"

"No, but Arthur is- he-!"

"Who's Arthur to you? Was he hurting you guys?"

"Relax, Lukas!"

"Tell me!" Peter sighed. And after taking a few deep breaths, he began. "Arthur is our foster parent, if you can call him that. He's a heavy drinker, and often hit a few of us."

A scowl formed on Lukas's face. "He hit you? What about Emil?"

"He only hit Emil once or twice, and that was a long time ago!" He didn't tell Lukas that it was only a few weeks ago, and that it was for speaking to quietly when addressing the man. He also didn't tell him that he had fractured Emil's cheekbone. However Lukas couldn't handle even that vague information. He burst into a rage. "That pathetic son of a-!" Cutting off that anger-fueled remark, he clasped his hands over his lips. "Sorry." Peter shook his head. "It's a reasonable thing to get so worked up about. But you can't help Emil, seeing as you have no proof that he hit any of us."

Lukas groaned into his hands. "I shouldn't have left him with that witch! I thought I could trust him!"

"You knew Arthur?"

"Yes… He is- no, was one of my best friends, practised magic together. When I heard he had started to foster kids, I thought that the stars had aligned. Turns out I was wrong. And I had always thought that he was such a gentleman!"

Peter touched Lukas's wrist. "It's not your fault. Not yours."

His companion ignored his comment, instead looking up at the midday sky.

…

Lukas grimaced. Even with Peter trying to reassure him that there was nothing he could have done, he couldn't help thinking that he'd done a terrible thing, leaving Emil with Arthur. Even the stars seemed to hate him.

Glancing over to the coat rack, Lukas made the decision to go to Arthur and give him hell for what he did.

…

Arthur glared at the bedroom door. The twins had been awfully quiet since Peter left, Yong-Soo had started crying in his sleep again, crying for his brothers to take him back, despite how he'd run away. Erland was now more sour than ever, Whatever-His-Name-Is was now passive-aggressive. Emil had a constant frown on his face.

He thought back to how he'd hit the small Norwegian-Islandic teenager on the cheek opposite the fractured bone, just minutes ago. He sighed, and swirled his glass of wine, watching how the moonlight reflected off of the crystal.

Moments later, a harsh knock sounded on Arthur's door. He groaned and grumbled all the way to the door. Upon opening it, he was greeted with a familiar face, contorted in anger.

…

Peter had been returned to the penthouse hours ago, and was now sitting on a sectional couch with Tino, watching some program about weddings.

Tino had a dreamy look plastered on his face as he watched. Peter brushed away thoughts about Lukas and Emil, and turned to the Finn. "You look thoroughly interested." He chuckled. Tino looked upwards, all the way up to the decorated ceiling. "I've always wanted a wedding… An outdoor one, of course. Summer air warming my skin, fresh air… And the dress! A lovely, pure white gown, flowing to the ground, strings of pearls and flowers stitched into the hem and all through every fold and crease… A gorgeous veil, streaming in the wind…" His eyes were sparkling as he described his perfect wedding. Peter smirked. "And this glamerous dress on your perfect bride?" Tino flushed. "No- on me. I'm not exactly planning on having a bride."

"So you'd rather be the bride?"

"Something like that."

Peter shrugged and went back to the TV. He considered how Tino looked at Berwald, but also saw how Berwald looked at Lukas. Mathias had also looked at Lukas, with that soft look of longing- 'No, 'soft' isn't the word I'd use. Confident, thirsty, maybe.' He'd also seen the tall Dane look at Berwald in a similar manner. Putting those confused thoughts away, he retired to his bedroom for the night. He did not fall asleep until much later.

…

Lukas was practically flying, how fast he ran. On his way to the insufferable bastard that was Arthur.

Once in the building, he sped up the stairs. He had a remarkable memory, he'd remembered the very apartment he'd left Emil at, six years ago. The third floor. Room 27. The 'Crown' apartment complex.

He approached Arthur's door, and began rapidly knocking on the door, so harshly that his knuckles stung. A tired, tipsy Arthur answered. "Oh, Lukas!" His voice slurred on the 's'. Borderline drunk, he was. "Where might I find my baby brother?" He hissed, his voice low and even.

"Baby brother? I can tell ya right now that there isn't any babies in my care." Arthur chortled, taking a sip from his wine glass.

A slap rang out as the back of Lukas's hand made contact with his ex-friend's cheek. Deep red wine splashed out of the glass, covering Arthur's shirt with a blood-coloured stain. A hard expression crossed Lukas's face. "Perhaps I should rephrase. Where's Emil?" His voice was no longer steady, and instead shook with rage. Arthur rubbed his cheek, a devilish grin forming on his lips. "Emil? He hasn't been here for some years!"

Lukas tried again. "A little bird told me he was here."

The Englishman frowned. "A little bird? Maybe that little bird was named Peter? Why are you so worried about Emil now, only a day after Peter went to stay with the rich man? You never worried about him before?"

Lukas's brows knitted together.

He turned and ran from the door.

Emil watched, a bruise blooming on his cheek, staining his porcelain-white cheek with purple-red. He never said a word. Lukas was there, moments before.

And now he'd lost him.

…

When Peter walked into the dining room the next morning, he found Berwald, Tino and Lukas speaking together. Lukas's face was monotone, as per usual, but he had a sad look clouding his eyes. It was then that the realization settled in. 'Oh God, he went to try and find Emil.'

…

Berwald caught sight of Peter, and beckoned him over to the table. He patted the seat next to his and pushed his glasses up his nose. The child refused to look at anyone but Tino, who closed his eyes and in a kind tone, asked "Peter, nuorukainen, does Emil really, truly live with you?"

Peter nodded. "Yes! He did, I like Lukas! Why would I say something so hurtful to someone I like?"

Tino grasped one of the preteen's hands. "No, we weren't saying that. We just wanted to be sure."

Peter gripped the speaker's wrist with a crushing force. "Tino, Lukas is such a good person. He doesn't deserve that, after all, he's surely been to hell and back, hasn't he?" He whispered, his voice serious.

Lukas looked to Peter, a sad look dominating his face.

His brother was the only one who'd ever said anything like that

…

Emil sat on Peter's old bed, watching the clock with empty eyes. Everyone had already left for school, but he wasn't meant to go outside with bruises. Not even to go to his classes. Arthur could easily tell the school that he was sick, and keep him locked in his room all day while he went out and used the money from fostering to buy booze, drugs and clothing.

The ticking of the clock still hadn't stopped, even if it's respective hand had. Tick, tock. Tick, tock. The sound was driving him crazy. Emil sighed, wishing he could be back in Norway, going to the fjords for walks with his half-brother. The memories were still vivid in his mind's eye.

Thirteen years old, and he'd come here when he was seven- Emil hadn't really thought about it, but he'd been in this hell-hole for six years now. Six years since his brother first dropped him off. 'Why hadn't he ever visited? Was he tired of me?' Emil shook his mind free of the confusing thoughts.

His eyes drifted over to the dresser without drawers in the corner of the room. On the top of it, was a tiny, black bobby pin. He walked over and, holding the pin in his hand, feeling the cool surface of the pin, he reached over for the doorknob and jiggled it, to see if it was really locked. It was.

Emil shoved the miniature accessory into the lock. He twisted it this way, and that, until he heard a metallic click. He turned the knob. The door opened, and Emil slipped out.

He stepped over to the hall closet and pulled out his pair of shoes. They were black ankle boots. The boots were from a donation centre, and Arthur hadn't cared about size, style or practicality, only about the fact that they were free. They were heeled, made for women and two sizes too large. He slipped them on, and climbed out the window. Going down the ladder was difficult in heels, but he made it.

He walked to the playground, three blocks away. Emil wasn't worried about his time frame, as on days that one of his kids was sick, he didn't return until past midnight. He sat down on one of the two swings, and started swinging.

"Hey, you."

Emil looked up at the stranger. A boy who looked about a year older than him was smirking down at him. Emil stared into shining golden eyes, which seemed to tease him.

"Hey, whatever happened to your face? You don't look too pretty with a big, purple bruise and a bandage on your face?"

Emil was irate. He knew that he appeared somewhat effeminate, and even as he didn't mind being called pretty, he hated it when people talked to him as if he was a girl. "And you don't look too pretty with that stupid grin stretching from one ear to the next."

The boy frowned. "Oh, damn! You're a boy? Nice shoes, by the way."

"Shoes are shoes."

The boy sat on the swing next to him. "I'm Leon, by the way. Who're you?"

"…Emil."

"Cool. So you're not from here? You like, don't sound like anybody from here."

"Don't act so superior, you're not from here either."

"I wasn't being superior. So are you like, gonna tell me where you're from?"

Emil rolled his eyes. "I was born in Iceland, but my mom wanted to move to Norway to go live with my dad."

"Iceland? So is your last name like, 'something-sson'?"

"It was, but my mom wanted me to take my dad's last name so I would fit in in Norway. It's Bondevik now."

"But now you live in Sweden."

"Yeah."

"You've moved countries lots, too?"

"It hasn't been 'lots'."

"It sure has. You seriously realize that most people live their lives without moving around the world, right?"

"What about you, anyway? Where're you from?"

"Hong Kong. Moved to England, then back to Hong Kong, and then came here."

"My foster parent is from England."

"Who's he?"

"Arthur Kirkland."

Leon stared at Emil, his eyes calculating, focused on Emil's face. "Arthur Kirkland?"

"Um… Yeah, so?"

"My dad's ex was named Arthur Kirkland. He had to inspect his house earlier this week. He wasn't so happy about that."

"Wang Yao?"

"Like, are you a stalker?"

"No, Mr. Wang came to my house on Saturday."

"Damn."

"Arthur gave me the bruise. And he fractured my cheekbone."

"That's your bandage?"

"Yes."

"The thing is, Arthur never hit me. He like, gave me all these lessons on how to be a proper, gentleman."

"Are we even talking about the same person?"

"Probably."

"Maybe Arthur fell into the depths of despair after your dad and him broke up. That's probably why he drinks so much." Emil laughed. Leon gave him a confused look. "Dude, that's seriously not like, funny at all."

"Kind of is."

"Not really."

"This talk is something that's pretty important, but it's kind of depressing, isn't it?"

"Do you wanna talk about something else?"

"Definitely."

The two new friends sat on the swings, rocking back and forth in comfortable silence. After a little while, Leon broke the quiet. "Do you want to get bubble tea?"

Emil raised a brow. "What's that?"

Leon's eyes widened. "For real? You've never had bubble tea?"

"Nope."

"Seriously, we need to get you some, Lady-Boy."

Emil ignored the nickname. "I don't have any money."

"My treat."

"Okay, let's go."

…

Just so you know, Emil and Leon are going to have a lot of screen time. I feel like writing HongIce.


	5. Bubble Tea & Fried Rice

Author's Note: LadyBoy by RuPaul is a hecking bop. Enjoy this Emil and Leon-centric chapter!

…

"So bubble tea is a big thing in Asia?" Emil asked. Leon nodded. "The bubble tea shop here is really good."

They walked the rest of the way in silence.

…

Bells tinkled when Leon pushed the door of the little bubble tea shop open. 'Silk Road' it was called. When Emil asked about the strange name, Leon simply replied with "You'll know why when you taste it."

Emil didn't like that answer.

They approached the counter, and a young Chinese lady came to take their order. Judging by the way they spoke to eachother, Leon had been in here plenty. The two spoke in rapid Cantonese as the young Hong Konger ordered the tea. He paid, and then guided Emil to a table for two.

"Thanks for paying."

"It's no problem, I make some money when I get tips at my older brother's restaurant."

"What do you do?"

"Wait tables, wash dishes and the like. My brother doesn't mind the help, and with all my siblings and I helping, he doesn't really need to hire. One of my sisters recently graduated, and so for now, working there is her job."

A bell rang, and Leon got up to get the cups.

Both of the drinks were lavender, with black pearls resting at the bottom. "They're purple taro flavour. They match your eyes, Lady-Boy."

Emil eyed the bubble tea carefully. "Are those the 'bubbles'?" He pointed to the pearls.

"Yep."

"What are they made of?"

"Boba, tapioca- or whatever you wanna call it. They're chewy."

Emil put the straw to his lips and when he started drinking, Leon quickly added a "Don't choke!" In a mock-alarmed tone. The white-haired teen rolled his eyes and chewed the bubble when it came up through the straw.

The drink was incredibly smooth, and Emil immediately knew why it was called 'Silk Road'.

They passed half an hour drinking and having pleasant conversation, which was an unusual feeling, considering he didn't have many friends and he was quite closed-in and didn't talk much. He felt like he'd spoken to Leon more in an hour than he did in a week.

…

Emil climbed over the windowsill. The sun was going down, and he'd been out with Leon all afternoon.

"You're back late."

He gripped the shirt over his heart and exhaled a sigh of relief. Yong-Soo smiled at him.

"Don't sneak up on me like that!"

"Sorry! What were you doing? Did you get a boyfriend?"

"Nothing like that."

"Su~ure…"

"Really!"

Yong-Soo shrugged. He turned and walked down the hall and disappeared into the bedroom. Emil followed.

"So who else is home?"

"Matthew is."

The thirteen year-old sat on his bed, an uncovered mattress laying on the floor. Yong-Soo enthusiastically collapsed next to Emil, and draped an arm around his shoulders. "So, what were you doing out there? Making friends?"

"Sure."

Emil really only had two friends outside of his roomates, excluding Leon. It was a flamboyant, rich, young Pole two years his senior named Feliks and a Turk, ten years older than the Norwegian-Icelandic boy.

The seventeen year-old Chinese-Korean grinned. "Finally got someone other than that pretty-boy and your pedophile?" Emil groaned. "Sadık isn't a pedophile."

"Uh-huh."

"He isn't!"

Yong-Soo ruffled his younger roomate's pale hair and walked over to the door. "I'm going to go get supper on the stove. Are you going to help?" Emil got up. "Yeah, probably should."

They got to work, cooking with what they could scrounge from the fridge. Yong-Soo said that they were going to make bokkeumbap, a Korean dish. When Emil asked about it, the Korean boy smiled. "It's kimchi fried rice. We're going to use this. I bummed it off of the old man at the Korean restaurant." He held up a small jar of the spicy pickled cabbage. All of the boys were relatively good cooks, excluding Peter and Erland, who seemed to have picked up Arthur's bad habits.

Yong-Soo cooked rice, and Emil sliced the kimchi.

When they were frying the rice, the duo heard keys jangling outside the door.

"I won't snitch on you." Yong-Soo whispered.

"Thanks."

The doorknob clicked, and Arthur stepped in. He usually would've stumbled in, but he seemed to be sober, not even hungover. Emil gritted his teeth, he was back abnormally early.

Arthur would've scolded the boys for using the kitchen, but instead he just looked up, nodded in greeting, and walked away.

"What the hell was that?" Yong-Soo asked, once Arthur was out of earshot. Emil shook his head. "Maybe he's nicer when he's sober?"

Matthew walked into the kitchen, yawning. "Is Arthur home yet?" Yong-Soo chuckled. "Yep, and he's sober." The Canadian teen raised a brow. "You're serious?" Emil nodded. "He even greeted us."

Matthew sighed. "Why does this have to be such a rare occurrence? It should be a given, eh?"

Emil shrugged, and dumped a handful of frozen peas into the pot with the rice.

After the trio had eaten, the other three boys climbed in through the window. Emil gestured to the stove, and the group shuffled into the kitchen and filled their bowls with rice. They sat at the table and ate, mild dinner conversation arising amongst the boys. Their speaking came to a halt when Arthur walked in. He scooped some of the rice into a bowl, but said nothing. Conversation resumed when he retreated back into his bedroom.

No-one knew why he was acting strangely.

…

A week had passed since Arthur began acting weird. The effect had since worn off, though. But he wasn't drunk-angry, it was more like a withdrawl-craving sort of angry. Emil's bruise and fractured cheek had since healed, and he was getting ready for his first day back. He tugged on a pair of jeans, a black band t-shirt with words reading 'Pray for the Wicked', and a dark grey hoodie. He packed some of the leftover rice for his lunch, before tugging on his heeled boots, and starting his walk to the school.

"Yo, Lady-Boy." Leon clapped a hand onto Emil's shoulder. The teen knew that his friend had been walking behind him the whole time, never acknowledging him, but always feeling gold eyes boring into the back of his head. "Hæ, Leon." The Hong-Konger was one of the only people who could keep up with his swift walking speed. Feliks was a fast walker, but only when he saw a sale at Ardene's or some other store, otherwise he walked about as fast as a toddler learning how to stand on his own two legs. Although, Emil was almost positive that Feliks had never crawled a day in his life.

…

Classes passed slowly until lunch break. Leon went to go eat with his siblings, and Emil went out onto the roof to eat. He met Feliks and Tolys (Felik's boyfriend), and just as he'd sat down- "Privyet, Emil."

Ivan stepped out from behind the door. "Oh, fjandinn." Emil groaned flatly.

Ivan was a tall Russian boy who seemed to like Emil, however you'd like to call it, whether it was like like, or he just wanted to be friends, Emil didn't return such feelings. Ivan smiled down at him, and crossed the roof, his younger sister close behind.

Feliks tossed his hair. "Ivan is totally weird, and his sister is like, totally incestuous." Tolys nodded. "Try having him stalk you all the way to your house."

Emil ran a hand through his hair. "Lunch period's almost over. We should get going."

He waved goodbye to his friends, and walked down the stairs leading down to the floor beneath. He was aware of Ivan's presence behind him the whole way down, but paid him no mind.

…

Leon slid the door of the Asian-fusion restaurant open, and kicked his shoes off. "Yo-ooo~?"

His older brother stepped out of the kitchen, a slight smile on his face. "Hello, Jia-Long."

Leon inwardly scowled at his use of his Chinese name, but cooly brushed it off. "Hey, Kiku. Where's bá?"

Kiku placed the empty tray he was carrying down, and checked his watch. "He's working. There was a very large house he needed to inspect. He'll also be going out with a colleague after, so you won't see him until tomorrow. Did you see Mei or Hyung-Soo on your way home?" Leon dumped his backpack on a chair. "Nope. I seriously haven't seen either of them since like, lunch."

Kiku handed Leon a damp cloth, a silent way of telling the younger to wipe the tables down. Leon obliged, as this was a daily chore. Kiku was just one out of Leon's half-dozen half-siblings. That wasn't even counting Hyung's twin who ran away years ago. His dad had to go through seven marriages to realize that he didn't even like women. The Chinese man had married a Vietnamese woman, a Taiwanese, a Macanese, a Thai, a Japanese, a Korean, and his own mother, who was a Hong Konger. They'd divorced shortly after Leon had turned two, and so he didn't remember her well. He just knew that Yao and his mother had mutually agreed that the relationship wasn't working, and that there was no arguing or complications.

A slight scraping sound alerted him that someone was home, and he craned his neck to see who it was.

Hyung-Soo stepped in, pulling off his shoes, and entering the restaurant. He greeted his brothers coldly, and walked down towards the bathrooms. "Seriously, what's his deal?" Leon asked, flipping a stray strip of hair over his ear. Kiku shook his head, wordlessly chiding him for being sarcastic.

The Korean boy had been cold since his twin had run away.

…

Bad ending is bad. Sorry you guys waited so long for such a short chapter, this chapter lost my interest, and I have ideas for another story. This'll still get updates, though.


	6. Bitter Coffee and Bitter Meetings

Author's Note: Sorry about inconsistencies, if there are any. Sorry for slow updates!

…

Peter quietly descended the stairs, peeking over the railing. Berwald was in the kitchen kneading some sort of dough on the chopping board. Peter slowly wandered down into the kitchen, yawning a greeting to his foster father. Berwald turned and nodded down at the preteen, his own type of 'hello'.

An hour and a half after their encounter, Berwald ushered Peter into the dining room, and served him a plate of cinnamon buns and lingonberry jam. He sat down opposite the child, and they ate in comfortable silence. At least comfortable for Berwald.

Peter bit into the bun, warmth from the cinnamon-sugar and bread flooding his mouth. The food itself was good, but the silence made the experience awkward. He was used to quiet meals after living with Berwald for the past three weeks, but he was never able to enjoy a meal without some conversation, no matter how delicious the food was.

When he was finished, he cleared his throat and excused himself from the table. He took his plate into the kitchen and placed it in the dishwasher. He walked into his bedroom, and selected an outfit for the day. Tino had bought him plenty of new clothing, as if he were a grandfather finally meeting his grandchild for the first time.

Peter got his permission to go out around the building, which really just meant he was looking for either Tino or Lukas. He hadn't actually seen Lukas for a while, and was wondering where he'd gone off to. He worked up the courage to go ask a worker, who simply shrugged and said that Lukas had gone to visit his parents for a little. Peter highly doubted that.

Lukas's parents still lived in Oslo and both he and Emil had been discommunicated. Lukas had no reason for a friendly chat with them.

Peter didn't press further. He thanked the worker and continued downstairs to go look for Tino.

…

Arthur put his face in his hands. He'd locked up his stash of liquor since he visited him.

He'd gone to Yao's house about a week ago, when he was there, he confessed to getting drunk often and getting angry when he did. His ex, a usually harsh and strict person, had softened as Arthur broke down before him. He'd promised to not report him, so long as he tried to sober up. Yao had advised that he gradually stopped drinking, but Arthur had thrown that out the window and was trying to quit cold turkey. He knew that he could drink an average amount, but he was nervous he'd get drunk and disappoint Yao.

He didn't know why he was so concerned about what Yao thought, they'd broken up years ago. Arthur decided that it was because he didn't want his kids taken away.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that that wasn't it.

…

Lukas approached the front door.

This door belonged to his parents, the one that'd been slammed in his face seven years ago. He nervously reached out and rapped his knuckles against the wood surface.

The door creaked open. A older woman stood in front of him, a blonde with thinning, silver-streaked hair, holding a cup of steaming coffee, despite it being late in the afternoon.

"Hej, mor."

A smash. Shards of pastel-blue ceramic on the welcome mat. Steaming coffee pooling around his combat boots.

The woman's eyes widened. "Lukas?"

He nodded, making eye contact with his mother for the first time in seven years. "I would like to speak with you."

…

Mathias stepped out of his car, something he'd always been proud of. A smart wine-red sports car with ebony leather seats.

He combed a hand through his hair. Mathias was one of the few people with the privilage of having his fingerprint copied into the system that would allow him into Berwald's home. The only person besides Tino, Lukas and- Peter.

Mathias hadn't liked the boy from the first time he'd met him. A boy who he admittedly brought into the household, if only to increase Berwald's popularity.

But, it was the decision that got him a raise. Berwald had originally been awkward and shy around his foster son, but had warmed up around the child and thanked him for letting him 'gain popularity' with the public.

Mathias didn't care about if he was lying or not. Just as long as the kid wasn't there forever, even though four months was a stretch. His calender read that there was only three months and two days left until the brat was sent back to whatever hole he'd crawled out of.

The elevator doors opened, and he stepped in.

"Yo, Berwald!"

The tall Swede walked out from the office, a heavy scowl set on his face. "It's Mr. Oxenstierna to ya, Mr. Køhler."

Mathias rolled his eyes. "Okay, Mr. Oxenstierna."

"What're ya doin' here?"

"I come bearing paperwork."

He set the large tan envelope into his boss's hands.

"'Kay. Ya leavin' now?"

"Don't be so sad to see me go." Mathias joked, turning towards the elevator. "Bye, then."

Berwald shrugged. "G't out 'f my house, Mr. Køhler."

…

Leon wandered idly around his room, eyes shut, earbuds jammed into his ears. He was listening to a song that Emil had introduced to him, a different genre than what he'd usually listen to. It was milder than rap or pop, and he didn't understand the words, and he'd have hated it if his friend hadn't shown it to him. A friend. That's what Emil was. Nothing more, and Leon was definitely straight, right? He didn't want anything else.

Just friends.

'Hver genga þarna, ettir Austurstræti

Og ilmar eins og vorsins blóm

Með djarfan svip og ögen af yfirlæti

Á ótrúlega rauðum skóm'

It was all in Icelandic. He knew next to none. He'd ask for some lessons from Emil.

'Ó, þad er stúlka engum öðrum lík

Þad er hün Fröken Reykjavík

Ó, þad er stúlka engum öðrum lík

Þad er hün Fröken Reykjavík'

Fröken Reykjavík. The one phrase he knew. Miss Reykjavík.

Emil was Fröken Reykjavík. Something like that.

Lady-Boy Reykjavík.

A bud was tugged from his ear. His eyes snapped open, immediately looking to glare at the person who dared to interrupt his listening session. He stared back into the dark eyes of his father.

"Jia-Long, we need to talk about the loud music. Your ears could be damaged."

Leon blinked at the sudden switch from listening to Icelandic to Cantonese.

"Ugh, whatever."

"I swear, if you keep speaking back to me!"

"You'll do what?" Leon grinned slyly. His father smacked him upside the head. "Jia-Long!"

"Leon."

"What?"

"I prefer to be called Leon."

"You are Jia-Long."

"Whatever, what do you want?"

"You have a person wanting to see you."

"Who?"

"Some boy or some girl. I can't tell, but it most certainly should not be the latter!"

"Okay, whatever. I'll go see who it is." He already figured it was Emil, and had no doubts.

He entered the living room, and grinned at the sight of his friend. "My dad thinks you might be a girl."

"Like he should talk."

"Hey!"

"At least I don't have long hair."

"You wear heels and have a delicate face."

Emil shut his mouth.

"How'd you get my address anyway?"

The white-haired teen shrugged the question off. "Your sister was more than happy to offer me directions."

"I swear to God, Mei!"

"With how easily she gave me your address, you could be robbed; or kidnapped. Not that anyone wants you."

"You came to me."

"I need to talk with you."

"Shoot."

"Somewhere more private. Where your siblings won't burst in on us."

"Okay."

The friends made their way outside, down to the playground where they first met. They sat on the swings. Emil inhaled deeply, thinking hard. "It's a lot of things. Leon, I-"

…

Peter wandered around the building trying to find Tino. He took his time, knowing that the Finnish secretary would be out getting coffee or something, feeding his lowkey caffine addiction.

He peered over the glass railing of the tall stairwell, looking for his playmate. He saw a lot of blondes, but couldn't find who he was looking for. He decided to go back up to the penthouse to leave a note to let Berwald know he was going out into the gardens out back.

He dawdled over to the elevator, looking around one last time for Tino.

"Hey there, kid." Peter's head snapped around to face the speaker. He already knew who it was, judging by the cocky Danish voice. His suspicions were correct, as when he turned, Mathias was standing over him, smiling. Peter waved, and continued on his commute, and the Dane did the same.

Peter didn't know why, but Mathias's smile always seemed strained around him.

…

His mother turned around to close the door.

Lukas drew a hand out and grabbed the knob with an iron grip. "Mor, I. Would. Like. To. Talk." He said evenly, indigo eyes boring holes through his mother's skull.

"Lukas. We have nothing to discuss."

"I think not. We haven't seen each other in seven years, and we have nothing to discuss?"

"We do not."

"Let me in, and we can talk like normal families do."

His mother relented, opening the door for her son to step in.

They sat across from each other, silent at first. His mother had a fresh mug of coffee, and Lukas had taken the liberty of taking off his jacket and hanging it up, much to his mother's displeasure. It meant he intended on having a long talk with her.

"Your father is at work."

"So be it."

"What do you need to say, Lukas?"

"Why did you kick us out?"

"You are homosexuals."

"We both know that that's not the only reason."

"Fine. It's not."

Lukas leaned in, eyes focused solely on the woman in front of him. "Care to elaborate?" He mocked.

"We had considered ridding ourselves of you two as soon as Emil was born. He was white skinned, white haired.

"He and you were both emotionally stunted, and you being gays was just the icing on the damn cake!"

"You were certainly a very doting mother."

"Who could be? With damned children like you?"

Her words sent what felt like shards of glass through his heart, but he ignored it.

"You bore that white-skinned baby, you raised that emotionally stunted homosexual!" His voice had risen to a shriek, all traces of calmness gone to the summer wind.

"You were never loved! Not by your father, and definitely not by me."

A dry chuckle escaped Lukas's throat. "You were loved by Emil, who trusted you, of all people; to say that he liked the 'nice boy' in his class. And what do you do? You throw him and I, after I decided to come out to you after you tried to tell my baby brother that boys liking boys wasn't natural. Some mother you are."

"You two are cursed demons who never should've been born."

"Emil was your fault, who you said you'd love unconditionally when you were pregnant with him!"

"I was wrong! Bringing that bastard into this world is my biggest regret!"

Lukas arose from the table. "Goodbye, you damned bitch of a mother. I hope you burn in hell." His voice was back to being calm and even.

His mother bitterly watched him put his shoes and jacket on and she watched him close the door. Likely to never return.

But as soon as her son was gone, she burst into tears.

His words hurt more than she'd ever admit.

…

"Leon, I- I'm gay."

The Hong-Konger blinked in surprise. "Well, that was anticlimactic."

Emil shook his head. "How do you not care? Aren't you disgusted or some such?"

"Well, no. Don't you remember? My dad is gay, or bi or pan or whatever."

"…Right."

"What else?"

"Do you have a missing half-brother?"

"Something like that."

"Im Yong-Soo?"

"Yes. How do you know?"

"He is in my household."

…

Once again, bad ending is bad. Sorry about not updating in a while!

Poll is closed.


	7. Cold Water and Crying

Author's Note: Thank you for leaving reviews! Please leave more!

I'd like to address something: I wrote 'gone to the summer wind' in my last chapter, meaning that it was late July. School was already let out (no more school scenes for a while). Sorry about the unclear time-skip.

This is a chapter with mainly conversation, and the time is all over the place.

…

Leon gripped the fabric of his jeans. "Arthur knew Yong-Soo was with him. He knew that he was my brother. He never told me, Emil!"

Emil furrowed his brows. "I'm sorry, I only just put the pieces together myself."

Yong-Soo had said he'd run away from home, Leon once mentioned that he'd a half-brother that ran away. Emil could've kicked himself for not saying anything earlier.

"It's fine. You told me." He got up off of the swing.

"Where're you going?"

"To get him."

"I'll go with you."

"No, don't."

"Alright."

"Fine by me."

Leon waved to his friend, who left briefly after him (he was going to go downtown to find something to do).

He set off, shrugging off doubt and any unsure thoughts.

…

Yong-Soo sighed. Saturday afternoons were usually fun, but all his friends were busy. 'Busy' probably meant that they were off hanging out without him. The seventeen year-old covered his eyes with his forearm, groaning. "One month. One more month until I'm leaving." He thought aloud. When he was eighteen, he was going to be able to be an adult officially. He planned on moving out to go live with his friend Alfred on his birthday. That would only be for two years or so, and then he'd buy a little apartment.

He worked at the convenience store down the road from his school, and he usually worked for three or four hours after school. He'd been employed there since his sixteenth birthday, and his salary was about 110 krona per hour. Fortunately, it was good pay, and he never had to buy anything.

Yong-Soo lay on his bed tiredly, bored out of his mind. He didn't have work until 3:30 and it was only 10:00 in the morning. Matthew was sleeping, the twins were out somewhere, and Emil had gone to see a friend.

He heard knocking on the front door, but ignored it. It likely had nothing to do with him, and Arthur would get it.

Matthew shifted on the fold-out couch beside him. He'd been sleeping in a lot, drawing late into the night. He'd seen some of Matthew's work, and it was really good. Yong-Soo was artistic himself, but he drew in an anime style that one of his older brothers had taught him when he was younger, in contrast to the landscape art that his roomate did.

He listened to the muffled talking, but it was only getting louder and it sounded almost hostile. He shook the Canadian on the bed next to him. "Matthew, I think Arthur is arguing with someone." Matthew lazily opened an eye. "He argues with someone, so? He argues with plenty of people, he's not exactly someone you invite over for high tea."

"'Kay, whatever then."

"Goodnight."

"It's almost noon."

"Goodnoon."

"That's not a thing."

"Now it is. Goodnoon."

"Sure."

…

Arthur glared furiously at the teen in front of him. "What're you doing here, Leon?"

"So, is like, Im Yong-Soo here?"

He sighed at his use of 'like'. He was acting like he was some teenage valley-girl.

"He's not."

"Well, he is. You're not making eye contact with me, and you sound unsure."

"Who told you he was here?"

"Not telling."

He was going to kill Emil.

"Okay, whatever. He's not here."

"Yes, he is."

"No, he isn't."

"You say that."

"He isn't!"

"Keep telling yourself that."

"No. No! NO! NO!" Arthur was screeching now. "He's not leaving!"

"He is here."

"He can't leave!" He wailed. "He's all I have left of him!"

Leon's eyes narrowed. "Of whom?"

"He's all I have left of your father! Left of Yao!" He buried his face in his hands. He didn't love Yao anymore, did he?

Ah.

So that's why he was so persistant. It wasn't because of money. He didn't want to have to admit it to himself.

He still wasn't over Yao.

"I'll tell him. You know he can take him away. Better to just willingly give him back."

"No! You can't, I have legal custody of him!"

"My dad can arrange something. Plus, you don't have much time to be his parent anyway. By my calculations, he should be around seventeen, going on eighteen."

Arthur hid his face in his hands, on the verge of breaking down. He wasn't going to give up his only piece of the ex-boyfriend he still wasn't over.

"He's my son now. Mine."

"You broke up with my bá. All parental ties with him should be severed, right?"

"He broke up with me! He was wrong! We should be together, still!"

"You're not getting him back by keeping his son from him. Yong-Soo has a twin brother who misses him more than he'd care to admit."

Arthur bitterly growled out at his ex's youngest son. "You're mistaken. No one will miss him. He ran away, right?"

"And why did he run away?"

"Because I tol-!" Arthur cut himself off, realizing his mistake. Leon smirked.

Checkmate.

Leon smiled a venomous grin. "If you give him up now, I just might forget all of this."

He caved. "You'll say nothing?"

…

Peter stepped into the penthouse, looking to find a pen and a pad of sticky-notes. Instead of stationary, he found Tino. He was standing, talking to Berwald about some arbitrary thing that seemed to amuse the usually stoic man. The Finn smiled when he noticed Peter standing in the doorway.

"Mr. Oxenstierna, maybe I should take Peter out for a while?" Berwald nodded. "Sounds good."

Tino held his hand out to Peter, who gladly took it.

…

Tino sat on the curb next to the young teen. They'd been out all afternoon, playing at the park, walking 'round town, playing football. Now they sat in front of a charming little café, drawing with chalk on the empty street. "And you come here every Friday?" Peter nodded. "It's where I was left, you know? I come here because they promised to come back for me. They're going to be back one day."

"How long have you been doing this?"

"Since I could walk around on my own, I guess."

"Huh."

A young man with long golden hair tied back with a ribbon pushed the door to the café open. "Sorry to keep you waiting, petit oiseaux." Peter scowled playfully at the nickname. The man held out two white boxes. "And one for your pretty friend too."

"Thank you, Francis!"

He held one box out for Tino to take. "Thank you."

"No problem."

"You didn't see anyone today, did you?"

"No, sorry."

"That's okay. Better luck next time."

"See you next week, Peter. Behave."

"I will! Bye, Francis!"

Tino waved goodbye to Francis, and smiled down at Peter. "He seems nice."

"He was the guy who found me. Felt guilty about neglecting his own son or something like that, and took me in. Then Arthur started fostering. He left me there with him. He's in love with him, you know?"

"No, I didn't know." Tino said, not unkindly. Peter chuckled. "Arthur hates him. Francis always says that he'll come around, but I doubt that."

Tino said the same thing about his own crush.

…

Lukas stood outside, rocking on his heels. He was on the edge of the fjord, where his parents lived, just a few blocks away. 'Terrible people don't deserve such beautiful scenery around them.' He thought bitterly.

He leaned down and untied his shoes. He slipped out of them and removed his socks.

Lukas gently stepped into the water, wading out until he was in up to his waist. The frigid water lapped at his stomach, and he shivered at the sensation.

The water was clear and cold. When Emil was four, he decided that he wanted to live next to fjord. 'Like Mamma and Pabbi!'.

'Sorry, Emil. Mamma and Pabbi aren't who you think they are.' Lukas thought. Emil knew that now.

This particular fjord was even colder than most others. It was around -20 degrees celcius, even in July. It was a bad idea to be out standing in the water, but Lukas didn't care. He slowly, quietly, brought his bare fingers into the clear water. He drew them back and forth, in circles around himself.

The wind picked up rapidly. It whipped his pale blonde hair into his face and his hairpin came loose. It slipped from the fine strands, dropping into the deep water. It was okay. Blast it all. Nothing matters anymore.

Lukas inhaled deeply. The smell of the freshwater was familiar and calming. He last came here with Emil, on the day they'd been kicked out. That didn't matter anymore. Once again, nothing matters anymore.

"Hey! What are you is doing out in there? It is pretty chilly, ya know?" A voice called out in heavily accented and broken Norwegian. A familiar voice. He turned to face the speaker. "Vladimir?"

The young man waved at him. "Lukas! I haven't seen you in ages!" He was speaking English now. They both spoke it well, and Vladimir wouldn't have to struggle choosing his words. "Living in Norway for fourteen years now, and you still haven't a clue on how to speak the language."

"Sorry! But you try being trilingual. Maybe you should try learning Romanian!"

"Sorry, sorry. But you have improved since I last saw you." His friend approached him as he spoke, shivering as he waded out to him.

"Aw, thanks, Luke!"

"Still keeping up with that nickname?" Lukas detested nicknames of any sort, unless they were ones given to him by Emil. He hadn't been called one of those in ages.

"I thought you'd like it by now!" Vladimir whined.

"Well, I don't."

"You've made that clear already."

"Yes."

"So, how've you been doing lately?"

"Just saw my Mor."

"Oh. How'd that go?"

"How do you think?" He snapped suddenly. Vladimir jumped back slightly. Lukas shook his head. "Sorry for lashing out."

"It's okay. I shouldn't have asked, it's a sensitive topic."

"It's fine, you were just being polite, but I'd like to stop talking about it."

"Okay. Have you been practising magic recently?"

"No, I'm wondering if I should pick it back up though."

"Not many trolls where you are?"

"Stockholm is a little busy for them, I guess."

"You live in Stockholm? In Sweden?"

"No, in Ireland. Yes, in Sweden." Lukas resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The other man didn't pick up on that though. "Okay, so what do you do now?"

"I'm a driver."

"Like a taxi driver?"

"No. I work for the IKEA headquarters. I drive the CEO."

"Are you being serious?"

"Yeah."

Vladimir let out a low whistle. "How much do you get paid?"

"Does it matter? It's a fair sum of money, so it's not like I'm homeless or something."

"Okay, then."

"What're you doing?"

"I'm a fortune teller!"

"And how's that going?"

"Pretty good! I meet lots of pretty girls when I'm working. You wouldn't believe how interested they are in their futures. Not as many cute boys, though."

"You are still the bi-est guy I've ever met."

"You're still not the gayest guy I've ever met."

"A crying shame."

"You're like, the fifth gayest guy I've ever met."

"A real pleasure."

'This was the first time we've spoken in six years, and this is what we talk about?' Lukas thought to himself. He brought up a new topic. "So we're twenty-six now."

"How very observant of you." The Romanian giggled. Lukas rolled his eyes for real this time. Vladimir grinned. "So… Do you have a boyfriend yet?"

"No. You?"

"I dated some Bulgarian boy for a while."

"How was that?"

"Uhm… A little strange. He really liked yogurt and Attack on Titan."

"Huh."

"You must be cold."

"You must be, too."

"Let's return to my house. It's not far, and we can talke more. You can have some dry clothes, too."

"Thank you, Vladimir."

"No need to be so formal! It's been a while, but we're still friends."

"Alright, but can we get going? Contrary to popular belief, cold water can in fact cause hypothermia."

Vladimir chuckled. "Shall we?" He gestured to a cozy-looking teal house about a kilometre away.

…

Matthew heard footsteps approaching the bedroom. Thinking it was nothing, he rolled over and tried to fall back asleep. The footsteps kept getting louder and louder, and suddenly the door was shoved open. "Pack your things Yong-Soo. You're going home." Arthur stood in the doorway, puffy-eyed and his cheeks flushed. The boy on the floor beside him furrowed his brows. "I am home." As soon as the words left his mouth, Matthew could see the realization smack him in the face like a train. "Home?" He whispered. "You're leaving?" Yong-Soo tucked a piece of hair behind his ear. "I suppose I am."

Matthew rose from his bed. "I'll help you pack." He said shakily. He picked up the small stack of fabric that was Yong-Soo's t-shirt supply. His hands trembled, and he took in a deep breath. He placed the shirts into Yong-Soo's backpack, sighing. "I'm sorry, I-!" Matthew burst into tears. "Why the hell do things have to be like this for me?" He sobbed. "I'm sorry. I should be happy for you, but I'm crying instead."

Yong-Soo got up. He was shorter than Matthew by a few centimetres, but that didn't matter. He wrapped his arms around Matthew's slim waist. "I can still visit, silly."

Matthew wiped his tears from his eyes with the back of his hand. "You'll come often?" He asked softly. His friend smiled sadly. "Yeah. You need to visit me too, though. We can't be having any double-standards."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah."

They packed up the rest of Yong-Soo'd belongings into his bag. The pair embraced again. "Bye, Matthew." Matthew buried his face into the Korean boy's hair. "Goodbye, Yong-Soo."

"Saranghae, Matthew. It's Korean for 'I love you.'" Yong-Soo whispered into his taller friend's ear.

The Canadian hugged his roomate tighter. "Je t'aime, Yong-Soo."

Yong-Soo left without another word. He just smiled and waved as he left the room.

Matthew was speechless. The boy he loved loved him back. A dream come true.

…

There. I put KorCan in my story. My story, my rules. Fight me. I'll go down with this ship since it's basically canon.

Did you like this chapter? Is anyone reading this crap still? We'll never know…

So, apparently, my italic parts aren't being saved. I'm too lazy to italicize everything since I'm on an iPad, so if you see anything you want to be stressed, just read it like that. Or don't. I don't control you.


	8. Possible Parents, Leaving & Drinking

Author's Note: Should I keep updating this? Sorry this chapter was unnatural an K.

…

Yong-Soo walked down the hall, his heavy backpack pulling his shoulders down.

A young teen was standing in the doorway. A familiar face emerged as he stepped closer. A face he hadn't seen in years. "Leon?" He breathed out shakily. The teen nodded. "I haven't seen you in years."

His face was still the same, if not just a little more mature looking. Leon nodded towards Arthur. "I'll be taking him now." He looked towards Yong-Soo now. "We'll talk more on the way, okay?"

"Y-yeah."

…

Erland glared at his reflection in the computer screen. The website had crashed on him, effectively deleting all of his work. He'd been setting up a blog on his Tumblr account, as Emil had showed him the website a few days before.

' _The library's WI-FI is totally janked.'_ He thought dully, before tugging his cheap dollar-store earbuds from the computer and shutting the monitor off.

Erland carried the small laptop back to the desk, where the librarian smiled and took the the device. He smiled back, but his was strained.

He walked out onto the street, staring furiously down at his scuffed-up runners. He knew that he should've been looking where he was going, but proceeded to keep his eyes trained on the white surface of his shoes.

" _Oof_!"

Erland cursed as he stumbled back, landing on his backside. He brought his eyes up to the thing he'd crashed into. However, it was not a _what_ , but a _who_.

A shorter woman reached a delicate hand out to him, an angelic smile gracing her features. "Sorry about that! Let me help you up." Erland took her hand in his own, and the woman hauled him to his feet. She was stronger than he'd thought, as she had such a petite figure.

He muttered a _thank you_ before turning to go home, before being stopped again by the lady. She smiled at him again. "My name's Tiina, who's child are you? Surely you shouldn't be out here on your own."

 _Creepy._

"I'm eleven, which is a relatively decent age to be out on my own. I'm no-one's child and my fosterer doesn't care where I am. Are your questions answered now?"

He didn't care that he was being rude, she was being strange and acting like a predator. If his parents had even taught him anything, it was that no adult should come up to you and start asking about you.

Tiina averted her eyes from him. "I suppose they have."

"Good."

"You said your foster parent doesn't care where you are?"

' _Damn, did I seriously say that out loud?'_

"Y-yes. I did. What's it to you?"

"Well, that means you're loving somewhere where the conditions are unhealthy for a child such as yourself."

"So? You're not my mom."

"But you're obviously endangered there."

"It's sort of fine if he's not drunk."

"And how often is he drunk?"

"I dunno… I think not as much anymore, but why should you care?"

"Because I have a proposal for you."

"What?"

"Would you like to be adopted by my wife and I?"

…

Peter sat on the couch in his room, watching videos on YouTube on the phone Berwald bought him.

"Pet'r?" Berwald stood in the doorway

He sat up, tugging his earbuds out. "Yeah?"

"Ah j'st want'd tah tell ya that we're goin' t' a g'la 'n a f'w weeks. Are ya int'rsted in coming?"

Peter's eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets. "A _gala?_ Seriously? Me?"

"Good. Ah'll g't T'no to go out an' g't th' tailor."

"A tailor? Really?"

Berwald let out a small chuff resembling a chuckle and nodded. He then turned and left, pulling out his phone as he went.

Peter jammed the earbuds back in and went back to the video. Grinning like a fool, he was. He'd never been anywhere so extravagant before.

' _And here I was, thinking that I could never amount to anything so large. Now I'm the foster son of the CEO of IKEA. IKEA, that's like, a brand everyone knows. Now_ I'm _known by everyone.'_

…

Feliciano sat in the park, twiddling his thumbs. Lovino had left to go find some boy that he supposedly wanted to fight. He already knew that that just meant he had a crush on him, it was the same excuse he'd been using for ages. He used it on an older albino boy a while back, and it honestly surprised him that he'd been committed to one boy for so long, as the two often flitted about partners quickly, especially with women.

He had surprised himself too. Here he was, on a park bench, waiting for a young blonde German boy. He'd been watching him come into the park as often as he could, going so far as to be disappointed when he didn't see him come jogging down the path.

Feliciano didn't know much about the boy, other than he was _very_ athletic and that he wasn't much of a smiler. He didn't even know his name, but he was attracted to the him anyways.

And there he came, running down the cement pathway, glistening with sweat. He had earbuds plugged into his ears and his phone in a band strapped onto his bicep.

Maybe it was his muscular appearance, or the manner in which he carried himself, all confident and stoic, but with an undertone of shy awkwardness. Perhaps it was the accent or the strict way he spoke. Could've been the way he looked like one of his old crushes. It may have even been the fact that he was definitely gay. A closeted gay, but a gay nonetheless.

Chances were that it was all of those things, but he just knew that he longed for a relationship with him. At the very least, a decent conversation. And so, in that moment, Feliciano decided to try and speak to this young man.

He looked up just in time to see him stop, hands on his knees, doubled over and heaving. Feliciano glanced over at the unopened water bottle laying on the bench next to him, before grabbing it and briskly stepping over to his crush.

"F-for you."

The boy looked up at him, confusion flickering in his eyes for a split second. He took the water gratefully, cracking it open and sipping out the cool liquid.

"Danke schön."

"Ah, uh, s-si."

Why did he keep stuttering? He was the boy both girls and other boys in his grade fell for at a moments notice, right?

"Who are you? What is your name, I mean?"

Oh, so he was also awkward in this moment. That made things easier.

"Feliciano. And yourself?"

"Ludwig."

"Ah, well then. I'll see you around."

…

Ludwig sprinted down the path he went down every day. Lately he'd been having trouble keeping up his stamina, his grandfather pushing him harder every day. A burning hotness swallowed up his lungs, and he found himself hunched over, panting.

"F-for you."

A heavily accented, stuttering voice spoke. He looked upwards, to see the blue-tinted plastic of a disposable water bottle. He craned his neck up farther to get a better look at the speaker. A shy, wide-eyed brunette who seemed around his age, if not, a little younger looked back at him, a rosy blush staining his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. The face seemed familiar in some way.

He took the bottle from the blushing stranger- or was it a stranger? The realization dawned on him, and he now saw that he saw the face every day. It was only a quick glance, but enough for him to remember the bouncing curl sticking out the side of his head and those huge amber eyes.

Ludwig took a few mouthfuls of water from the bottle, keeping his eyes trained on the bottle's owner.

"Danke schön."

"Ah, uh, s-si."

Why did this boy stutter so much? Usually it would've made him irate, but this boy seemed so genuinely shy and nervous so he let it slide.

He saw him every day, so Ludwig supposed he should learn who this young teen was.

"Who are you?"

He noticed the strangeness of his words as soon as they passed his lips. "What is your name, I mean?"

The boy seemed to relax a little, for some unknown reason. "Feliciano, and yourself?"

"Ludwig."

Feliciano nodded, and smiled amicably at him. "Ah, well then. I'll see you around then." He then turned at left through the gates of the park.

Even as Ludwig continued his run, he wondered if fate had brought them to meet. Again, he didn't believe in fate or destiny, but he'd never made such quick friends before. In fact, as of that moment he didn't have any friends at all, but he supposed Feliciano and him weren't quite friends yet. Acquaintences seemed better to describe their relationship, but he knew he wanted to be friends with the petit, obviously Italian boy.

Ludwig jogged around the bend, to the place his grandfather would meet him and stop his stopwatch.

He sprinted the last few metres up to his stone-faced grandfather. He looked Ludwig up and down, a disapproving flown heavily set into his features. "You're a whole minute slower than yesterday. I swear Gilbert could've run faster!"

"I'm sorry, Großvater."

"' _I'm sorry, Gro_ _ß_ _vater'_ my ass! What the hell is wrong with you?" His grandfather tossed a lock of his long silver-blonde hair over his shoulder. "You're a disappointment! Almost as much of one as your verdammt brother!"

"I'm sorry."

"Ugh, again with your pathetic apologies! You'll never be a man!"

Was he telling the truth? Did his grandfather really hate him?

Whatever. He must've been spouting what must be motivation. Even the toxic masculinity. Tough love, Ludwig supposed.

But it doesn't feel like love at all.

…

Lukas sat at Vlad's round dining table, wearing a fresh set of clothing. Baggy, dark grey sweatpants, a loose-fitting plain white t-shirt and an unzipped maroon hoodie, exposing the shirt underneath.

Vladimir walked in a few moments later, he himself wearing a new set of clothes.

"Thanks for letting me borrow your clothing."

His friend smiled. "It's really no problem, Lukas. By the way, your clothes are in the dryer, when you're ready to go."

"Thank you."

"Awh, polite as always, you are." He smiled, nodding approvingly. Lukas emitted a stiff chuckle. "Blame my parents."

"Oh. Sorry. I didn't mean to mention them, I know it's a sore spot for you."

"It's fine, you didn't do anything. It's just my mor and far, herregud tisper."

"And that means?"

"Goddamn bitches."

"Huh."

"Yep. After Emil and I came out the closet, my mom and dad were totally unforgiving. My dad's a bitch with balls and my mom's just a plain old bitch."

"I'm sorry, man. I didn't know. Like, we had no contact at all. You just up and disappeared, I never saw you anywhere or Emil, for that matter."

"My dad smashed my phone and laptop against the hardwood."

"Oh, that's harsh, man."

"Tell me about it."

Vlad reached above his head, taking a bottle from the shelf above his head, smirking. "I know what'll fix things up right quick, like when we were in high school." He slammed a bottle of vodka down on the table. He popped out the cork and, being the gracious host he was, gave Lukas the privilege of having the first drink.

Lukas gripped the neck of the bottle in his fist and slugged the drink back. The vodka felt like fire as it rushed down into his stomach, and he liked it. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and passed it over to Vlad who happily accepted the clear beverage and sucked it back with gusto.

Half a bottle each went down quickly, and within a half hour, the pair were both blissfully drunk and equally numb. "Remember when we were in high school and we did this during our Russ Year?" He slurred. Vlad grinned shaking with silent mirth.

"Yeah. You and that other boy were sucking each other's faces off. What was his name?"

Lukas giggled, tapping his temple with his forefinger. "I remember _him!_ Wasn't his name, like jævla… Jævla… Jævla- Loki! Yeh, Loki. Right."

"Damn. That's right, it was Loki! Weird emo kid right?"

"Jævla emo."

"I lowkey love it when you cuss in Norwegian. Sounds hilarious."

…

Peter stood on a low, circular pedestal in the centre of a wide, white room. A tall young man was measuring him for the suit he would wear to the event, and he felt humiliated. He had paper-white skin, stained with pink blotches and his ribs jutted out, even through his turquoise undershirt.

The tailor didn't comment on anything, just scribbled down his measurments in a notepad and gestured for him to get redressed.

After dressing, his tailor (who was now known to him as Séan) took him into a room and pointed to a book of colours and fabric texures. "Which one do you want for your pants and blazer?"

Peter scanned the rows and rows of textiles until he settled on a smooth, navy blue fabric. Séan nodded, and gestured to the book again. "For your tie."

"Oh, okay!" He slipped his slim fingers over the book's pages again, rubbing pieces of cloth between his fingers, until settling on a pale blue one. Séan picked up the book, examining the piece he chose. "A silk coat, a silk pair of pants and a chiffon tie. What a fancy one you are."

"Oh, I-!"

"No need to worry, child. Your parent has already paid, so there's no reason for you to pick cheap fabrics."

"Oh."

Séan smiled, and dismissed the young preteen.

Peter walked back out into the waiting room, where Tino sat, smiling at him. "All ready to go?"

"Yeah, Séan said it'd be ready for the twentieth."

"Oh, so the day before the event. How convienient!"

"Isn't it?"

Tino took him by the shoulder, leading him back out to the car, laughing softly at Peter's comments and remarks about his experience.

…

Oh my gosh, you guys! I'm so sorry I didn't update for so long, and that this was s and short! I promise I'll do better in the future!

Oh, before I forget, I'm taking suggestions for a one-shot collection, but I have few conditions:

•I RESFUSE to do lemons

•Yandere, stalker and such are fine, but I don't support those types of relationships and don't romanticize unhealthy or toxic relationships.

•I don't write three-way relationships.

•Most other ships are fine.

•AUs are welcome, and suggested as they make it easier for me to write higher-quality stories.

•I don't like making one character nyo so that a gay relationship becomes hetero.

•I'm not good at writing 2p's, but I can try.

•Reader inserts are allowed, and will be gender-neutral.

•Parent Aus are fine.

•No Mpreg, _please!_

If I have any others that I forgot, I will message you with the reason I won't write it. So ask away!


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